


Saving You

by perseusjacksonjasongrace



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, MAAS Sarah J. - Works
Genre: M/M, blood tw, crackships keep fandom alive, death tw, i'm sorry this one is intense, mature themes, violence tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28429014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perseusjacksonjasongrace/pseuds/perseusjacksonjasongrace
Summary: The Shadowsinger must save one who has been captured, but will it be at his own expense?
Relationships: cazriel - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	Saving You

**Author's Note:**

> Not Ciara writing another gay crackship fic because she got addicted and needed to get something down even though she has no talent and it’s too much pressure to write for canon couples in this Fandom because all the fanfic authors are so incredibly talented and she’s just a lil bean in a big pot.

Azriel lands on the snow capped mountain with little more than a whisper. The footprint impression in the snow is barely visible. But it doesn’t matter how quiet he is because the deafening screams coming from inside that blackened cave drown out any sound he may have made. Even the vultures that usually circle this mountain, feasting on the decaying bodies that get thrown out, are nowhere to be found now. His black swirls of power reaching for the world dance towards the cave, towards the pain within. He smiles, and it looks like destruction.

Ever so slowly, _deliberately_ , he walks into the mountain that snuffs out light, kills dreams and he becomes the darkness itself.

The first thing he smells is the coppery tang of blood and his rage flickers. A soft red glow begins to illuminate the passage he prowls. His anger burns. He steps into a room, charcoal figures laughing at the armoured red light in the middle of them. He is an inferno.

“Leave him alone.” He says softly. He knows they hear because backs stiffen.

His shadows are already weaving themselves through the figures, sussing out weaknesses, places to exploit, fun. They whisper in his ears but his focus is solely on the person in the center of the room. The red glow is coming from them, little jewels the colour of rubies, blood, decorating their body.

“What did you say?” A creature snarls, moving towards him.

“Let him go.” He doesn’t enjoy repeating himself. It’s a waste of energy that gets depleted far too quickly.

“Why don’t you make us _Illyrian_.” The thing spits the title like it’s dirt on its tongue.

“I don’t want a fight.” His voice is still so quiet. His eyes glance to the tank of water at the far end of the cave and he knows what they used it for. He’s used that same tactic more times than he has fingers to count.

His gaze mists with fury as he takes everything in. Ropes wrap like jewellery around the person in the chair and long, inky hair plasters to sheened skin.

“Keep your shadows away from us!” Something growls.

“Give me my soul.” He snaps back.

“Your what?” They look confused, leathery skin bunching as they frown at him. And then one of them giggles. It sounds like sharp nails on broken slate.

“He is your soul?” It crackles, “Gods you two are disgusting.”

“Let’s just kill them both.” One pipes up, hunger rasping it’s voice.

“Good plan.”

And then faster than Azriel can blink they’re pouncing on him: beady, swamp eyes bright with evil and scaly fingers reaching for his exposed skin.

He closes his eyes to them, wishing he had the space to block his nose too. Ever so slowly ice starts to slush in his veins. He can feel their toying, thinking he’s surrendered. They same something in a language lost to explosions and extinction and he wonders briefly, pinned under their massive bodies if he’ll ever learn all the languages of the world. The sapphires at his shoulders, on his chest start to glow. The ice in his veins is unbreakable. He opens is eyes. Everything shatters. And three creatures turn to dust and shards raining down over him.

There is a vile screech and he hears someone slice skin. With what he doesn’t because he’s already moving through the crowd. He is a whirlwind, a blizzard, chaos-incarnate. Power thrums in his fingers as he slams a fist into what could be a gut. The floor trembles underneath him, like even it is afraid of the warrior it holds.

The creatures flock to him like birds, beasts, vultures. They claw and shriek and snap razored teeth. He obliterates them. A look, a blade that sings secrets, and jewels of power flowing through him. He is invincible.

One of them blocks his path, “He is dead Illyrian. You are too late.”

Azriel plunges a hand into its chest, bones cracking as he rips out its husk of a heart.

“Too late, too late, too late.” They start to hum, crowding him.

A discarded body lies in a pool of maroon, a flickering red light surrounding it.

The Shadowsinger’s mind goes blank. A claw plunges into the hollow of his throat. He tastes iron. The ice in his veins melt. The world goes black. And the demon inside him opens an eye.

Azriel rips his throat away from the puncturing nail and smiles like sin. True fear enters the creature’s eye but before it can save itself it is nothing but debri. The world narrows to each _thing_ as they enter his- the demon’s- line of vision. And one stumbling, shaky foot at a time he moves across the room. Obliterating anything that so much as breathed.

When he turns around to survey the destruction he is pleased to see twitching limbs and a trail of hearts following him. The demon inside him licks its lips. He thanks it and it settles back to sleep once more.

With a deep breath he turns to see the person he had come for. A strangled noise catches in his throat as he falls to his knees and cradles the unmoving body. Those red stones had flickered out, dull and dusty against his own bright blue ones.

“Cassian.” He chokes on a sob.

“Please.” This is not real.

“ _Meu amor_ , please!” The dam in his chest breaks.

Tears fall hot and fast onto their black armour but he doesn’t bother to brush them away, just cradles his soul in his arms and rocks back and forth.

An earthy brown hand twitches. He does not notice. Lost in his grief, pain. Hazel eyes gently blink open.

“Az?” A confused rasp echoes through the cave.

Azriel stops moving, gaze sliding down. He isn’t quite sure this is real. There’s every possibility he’s dreaming.

“Cas?”

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I— You—” He doesn’t have words, doesn’t know how to form them. His tongue is lead.

“Did I pass out?” Cassian looks over himself trying to find injury or cause for his unconscious state. “I don’t understand.”

For there is nothing there. No stab wound, or claw mark, or _anything_.

“You’re alive?” The Shadowsinger is still frozen.

“I don’t think any harm was done to me?” Cassian frowns. He was sure he had been tortured for three days at least. But there is nothing. Not even a scar.

“I heard them bring a sword down on you,” He mutters, “I heard them hurt you.”

But suddenly it doesn’t matter because they’re here and they’re together, and they’re alive. So he cups a warm brown cheek and sears their lips together. It’s like drugs, and addiction, and home. He can taste blood, but there’s wood and forests and adventure there too. The shadows gather around them, like a blanket. Joy blooms in his chest, and the blue stones glow brighter. Cassian’s red ones spark back to life. They are power, and beauty. They are ethereal.

The General breaks away, gasping for breath, but a grin splits his face and happiness spills out. “I love you.”

Before Azriel can reply he gasps. A burning as hot as lava blooms on his side. He looks down slowly and frowns at the growing stain of blood over his ribs.

“What happened?”

He can’t talk as his throat opens up, and red spills down the pale column.

The Illyrian in his arms scrambles up and grabs his chin, alarm flashing neon in his eyes. “What the fuck is going on?”

He doesn’t know how to tell his love, his heart, _his soul_ that the demon does not do things for free. That he suffers the injuries of every creature it kills. He does not know how to tell Cassian that he asked the demon to take his injuries too.

So instead he grabs those long, supple fingers and places it on his chest. Their gazes clash, and the sea finally meets the earth.

He smiles through the pain. Taps three fingers to the red stone on the Illyrian’s chest. _I love you_. He blinks once. And the Shadowsinger sings no more.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me your thoughts, beautiful human!


End file.
